Let us see what the Labyrinth has for us today...

wind, leaves, Chaconne, Kreutzer 2nd mov, gestalt, the uncomfortable hours-long compulsion that someone or something was hacking off my index finger, and most lately, Piazzolla's beneficent, lyrical musings by way of Buenos Aires, which take us through Valparaiso- and my own memories of those places: autumns of similar leaves, some wind, as seen through the windows of an old aunt's house, her faded upright stacked with newspapers, in a living room I barely remember.

Speaking of uprights, Rachmaninof proved kind to me last nite, during that opportunistic sidetrip to ma's dear ole house, me and the piano (my piano!!!! never gets any lovin' till I'm there, poor ole thing...) and the gladness I feel that my fingers still remember those crazy chords, and my ear still strives to make phrasial, musical sense of it all. Perhaps that uncommon stress is what stressed my finger out so much that it drove me to distraction with its weird neurological compulsions.

If we strive to understand that even the weirdest things have a reason for being or appearing, they distress less.